


The Tortures of Hell

by TapBluesNLindyhopDancer



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive Alastair (Supernatural), Alastair Tortures Dean, Ball Gag, Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Torture, Body Horror, Butt Plugs, Cock & Ball Torture, Dark fic, Dean Loves Pie, Dean Whump, Dean has a very full bladder, Dean in Hell, Dean is in extreme physical pain, Enemas, Forced Erection, Forced Wetting, Gags, Hell Fic, Hell Torture, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt No Comfort, I may have grossed myself out while writing this, I'm Sorry Dean, Inappropriate Use of Pie, M/M, Medical Torture, Mutilation, Nipple Play, Nipple Torture, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Spanking, Omorashi, Orgasm Denial, Pie, Rape/Non-con Elements, Restraints, Spreader Bars, Torture, Vibrators, Vomiting, Whipping, burning of flesh, but after this Dean hates pie, but mainly cock torture, lots and lots of blood, non-consensual anal sex, non-consensual use of needles, organ rupture, painful urination, pissing blood, scalding, some of these tags apply to part 2 and not part 1 and vice versa, the proceeding tags apply to part III only, this is NOT pleasant, torture by pie, use of acidic ointment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2018-10-27 03:30:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10800780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TapBluesNLindyhopDancer/pseuds/TapBluesNLindyhopDancer
Summary: These are a couple of scenes where Alastair inflicts torture upon Dean in Hell. Some of his tools: a vaccine, a special ointment, a dagger, and pie.  Read to find out what tortures await Dean in Hell. Warning: it’s gory and involves non-con.





	1. Torture Session 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here’s what my evil, sadistic mind came up with (it’s awful! I’m so sorry Dean!). There are two scenes that appeared in my head after thinking about the Dean being tortured/punished by pie trope. The first will set the mood/tone for the second scene that involves pie, but I won’t reveal any spoiler-y details other than what’s in the tags. It took me a while to finally reach the decision to write this, so I hope y’all enjoy reading this. The idea kept pestering me and wouldn’t leave me alone until I wrote it out. It gave me an opportunity to unleash my sadistic thoughts (which kind of scare me, even though they’re my own) in a healthy-ish manner. This takes place in Hell and is fiction, so just pretend that certain things I describe exist, even though there’s probably no logistical way that it does exist (though I am a chemical engineer, I am not into pharmaceuticals nor human anatomy/biology/nursing, so just pretend that this works). Just a fair warning, this is a very dark fic and involves graphic torture and rape (the rape happens in the second part, not the first). Heed the tags and warnings. Please let me know in the comments if I forgot anything that should be tagged.

Dean awakes to yet another day in the fire-y pits of Hell strapped to a table that is slightly inclined (maybe 15o above horizontal). His hands are above his head, shackled to the table with metal cuffs. His ankles are chained, too, roughly hip-distance apart. There’s even a thick strip of leather wrapped constrictingly around his middle just above his navel. In no way can Dean break free or move more than a few inches in any direction; he’s bound too tight. And of course he’s butt-naked without a way to hide his dignity.

Then he hears footsteps. Alastair enters the room.

“Hey Dean. How’s my favorite prisoner doing today?”

“Oh, ya know. Same ol’, same ol’. Just peachy bein’ chained to this table here.”

“Ugh. I’m sick and tired of hearing your goddamn voice,” Alastair sneers, hot breath coating Dean’s inner ear. “So today, you’ll be wearing this.”

He holds a ball gag up to Dean’s face.

“But, before we begin, you still have the same offer. Take my knife, break free of the table, torture the other souls trapped down here, and you can put an end to these torture sessions.”

“Never!” Dean spits in his face.

“Alright then,” is Alastair’s response, and he forcefully shoves the ball gag in Dean’s mouth. His head is yanked in order to secure the gag in place with a knot.

“What do we have in store for the infamous Dean Winchester today?” Alastair asks in his sing-song voice. He twirls his knife in his hand as he ponders how to torture the righteous man today. “Ahhhhh yes, I know,” Alastair says, more to himself than anyone else. He just likes to hear his own voice sometimes.

Alastair walks away from the table and over to the shelving unit lining the side of Dean’s cell. He trades in his knife for a small dagger which will prove to be a more effective tool in his plan. He also grabs two syringes filled with serum. This particular set of serum, when injected into a male’s genitals, will cause the penis to become erect but it’s victim will remain unable to come – this has been one of Hell’s greatest inventions as it allows the torturer to inflict mind-numbing pleasure on a subject who can be edged for several hours without having the means to come (it’s more efficient than a cock ring!). It also allows the torturer to inflict pain on a subject whose erection won’t fade to his own free-will. Plus there are many other uses, as you can imagine. The last thing Alastair grabs is an ointment that will be the cherry to top off his plan.

All three items along with sterilization equipment are wheeled over on a cart for convenient placement beside the patient lying on the table. Though the sterilization equipment isn’t necessary, it adds to the ambiance of the scene.

Instead of narrating aloud, Alastair decides to remain silent throughout this entire ordeal. That way Dean won’t know what’s coming next in his torturous plan. And the silent treatment has an amazing psychological effect on the mind.

First, Alastair jerks Dean’s cock to life. Unwillingly, blood flows to Dean’s dick. Then Dean hears the snap of rubber gloves. Dean feels something cold and wet swipe across the shaft of his dick. He shivers and whimpers in anticipation of what’s about to happen next. Alastair grabs the syringe with a half-inch long needle. Dean feels the warm grip of synthetic rubber along his shaft and then the sting of a prick. He starts hyperventilating. Pain erupts along his shaft as Alistair jiggles the needle around a bit before slowly pushing down and forcing the highly viscous fluid into Dean’s dick. Dean lets out an agonizing scream that gets muffled by the gag.  It’s a full minute before the vial is empty. Dean winces as Alastair wiggles the needle around upon exiting his penis. Next comes the scrotum injection.

Alastair places the empty vial on the tray and rips a piece of duct tape off a roll. Dean feels sticky adhesive attach to his cock and lower belly and his balls are exposed to open air. Alastair takes another cotton ball soaked in alcohol and rubs it on one of Dean’s balls. He grabs hold of the remaining syringe, this time with a 1 ½ inch needle, and cups one of Dean’s balls with his hand. The breath is knocked out of Dean’s lungs as he feels the excruciating pain of the needle driving into his testicle and he lets out a yelp of pain while streams of tears start flowing down his cheeks. The injection process is slow again due to the viscosity of the fluid.  After the syringe is half-way empty, Alastair pulls it out and goes through the same injection process with Dean’s other testicle. Dean holds his breath once Alastair swabs his second testicle with alcohol until he feels the needle puncture his skin. He whines as Alastair takes his time inserting the needle, jiggling it around inside of the sensitive flesh to prolong the injection. Dean’s relief is short-lived once the needle is fully in as the last part of the painful injection proceeds. After all of the liquid infuses into Dean’s testicles and the needle is removed, Alastair painfully rips off the duct tape stuck to Dean’s dick and another muffled cry escapes his mouth as red-hot pain ignites across his shaft and lower belly.

Now that the lengthy injection process is complete, Alastair slips off and disposes his gloves. _Now, what to do for the next several minutes while waiting for the serum to take its full effect? Hmmmm…._

To stimulate them, Alastair pinches and twists Dean’s nipples until they stiffen. He pulls out his dagger.  Dean feels a feather-light touch of something circling one of his sensitive nipples. With each round, the applied pressure increases infinitesimally. It doesn’t hurt and kind of tickles at first, but as the scrapes cut deeper into his skin, the pain flares. The blade goes around and around and around until it finally draws blood. Alastair completes one additional cycle, coating the tip of the blade in sticky red liquid. Then he pokes the bud of Deans nipple, slowly increasing pressure until the sensitive skin breaks. Drips of blood slide down Dean’s chest, pass his stomach, and hit the table _._ As more blood collects, little _plunk, plunk, plunk_ ’s echo in the background as the drops reach the floor. Dean lets out quiet moans of pain as Alastair moves over to the other nipple to repeat the same process.

By the time Alastair is done with Dean’s nipples, the serum has finished working its magic; Dean’s cock is at full hardness.  At this point, Alastair decides to wipe the blood off his dagger and spends some time sharpening the tool, letting Dean lie on the table in silent agony while wondering what his next act of torture will be.

Dean feels the same thing that destroyed his nipples now poking at his cock. Again there is a light drag of a knife, this time along his shaft. It repeats along the same path over and over and over again until drawing blood. Dean shakes in agony as his sensitive flesh is abused. Alastair doesn’t stop with just one gash along the shaft of Dean’s dick. No. He repeats the torturous process until there are five crimson lines gushing blood, which starts forming a small puddle on the floor.

Hell doesn’t allow the bleeding to stop, the mysterious physics controlled by the Demons. Nor does Hell allow Dean to get light headed and black out from the pain. He remains conscious during each painful torture session until the Demons allow him to rest in a state of unconsciousness. He can feel each line carved into his throbbing dick, each drop of blood coalescing before falling to the ground. A stream of blood continues pouring from his nipples. The puddle of red liquid on the floor continues to grow. Unfortunately, there is still more pain in store for Dean, but he doesn’t know what or how much is in store.

Suddenly the tip of Alastair’s dagger prods at the slit of his dick. Alastair forces the tip into the head of his cock, increasing the opening of Dean’s slit and Dean screams out in pain. His throat is becoming sore and raw from all this screaming. Alastair continues sawing the slit of Dean’s dick open until the head of his penis splits in half. The ache Dean feels in his dick is indescribable and he can’t hold back his constant shaking tremors of pain. Then Dean feels the blade make another deep cut across the already tender head of his cock drawing more blood. The process is completed one more time, so now there is a red asterisk on the head of Dean’s cock.

Alastair is now finished with his dagger. He wipes it off, sanitizes it, and sharpens it in preparation for its next use on a different day.

Meanwhile, Dean is crying, shaking, panting, and whimpering in pain. His dick and nipples are still throbbing, still leaking blood in numerous places. His cock is still uncontrollably hard even though he’s not the least bit turned on.

In the background, Dean hears Alastair snap on another pair of rubber gloves. Then there’s the splurt of a thick liquid being squeezed from a bottle and a plop as it drops onto some object.

Alastair appears again in front of Dean, this time with some sort of ointment on a large popsicle stick. The ointment is spread on Dean’s abused nipples and Alastair massages it into the gashes. Dean moans in pleasure as the ointment soothes his wounds. Alastair turns away briefly to place more ointment on the stick. When he returns, he spreads ointment across the shaft and head of Dean’s dick and rubs it in as Dean forms another moan of pleasure around the gag in his mouth. Alastair disposes of the wooden stick and his gloves, but stays staring at Dean. _Why hasn’t Alastair left, and why would he soothe the wounds he gave to me?_ Dean wonders.

But he’s not left wondering very long. A tingling sensation begins in his nipples and dick. The tingling grows stronger and transforms into a subdued burning sensation. The potency of the burning increases until it feels like his dick and nipples are on fire. It’s as though hot coals were glued to all of his sensitive areas. He sees Alastair’s gleeful smile before he exits the cell. He leaves Dean strapped to the table, ball gag still in place, and his flesh bubbling in acid. He wishes he could black out and sleep through the pain, but Hell would never allow that. He remains conscious until the burning fades away very slowly. It seems like weeks have passed by until he can finally rest in peace while he awaits Alastair’s next return in which he’ll introduce Dean to a new definition of pain and torture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, it took me awhile to finally write this and I was nervous posting this. So please, if you've enjoyed reading, leave kudos and/or a constructive comment. Kudos and comments give me life and will help encourage me to write the next part! FYI: part 2 is already planned out, I just have to write it. And part 2 involves pie :) 
> 
> Find me on Tumbler @tapbluesnlindyhopdancer (though I don't post much, I'm always open to chatting!)


	2. Torture Session 2 (with pie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look into another torture session with Dean on Alastair's table. This time it involves pie. And Dean is left feeling repulsed by pie, his use-to-be-most-favorite food in the entire world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long to update this! Life got in the way. I've been dancing even more and work has begun to pick up, giving me stress (like, one of the CEOs and several other higher-ups in the company visited our plant this past week, plus I've been recently assigned this massive horrifying project, so dancing and reading fanfic have become my go-to stress relievers). 
> 
> Buckle in for this journey through another torture session on Alastair's table, this time with the promised pie torture (sorry again, Dean!). And warning: there is a rape scene in this chapter.

As Dean wakes, the table shifts beneath him, back into a horizontal position.

“Good morning, Dean,” is Alastair’s greeting. “I’ve got a little morning treatment for you.”

Alastair begins prodding at Dean’s hole, loosening it a bit before a thin tube is coaxed in. Alastair releases a clamp and ice cold water starts flowing into Dean’s bowels and he gasps. The excruciating cramps start immediately. It’s then that he realizes the saliva-soaked gag is still in his mouth; he doubts it’s coming out anytime soon. His scars from yesterday have also mysteriously vanished which only means his body is a fresh canvas for whatever torture is planned for today.

Dean turns his head to the left and sees a huge ass bag filled to the brim with a colorless, transparent fluid. It’s gonna take a long ass time for it to drain completely. After yet another convulsive cramp attack, Alastair says, “I’ve gotta attend to some other souls, but I’ll be back soon. Don’t miss me too much.”

Dean is grateful for Alastair’s departure, but knows that it’s also not a good sign; this process is going to take a while.

After about an hour has passed by (or at least that’s what it feels like to Dean), he has gone through dozens of cramp attacks and is afraid to see the progress of the drainage. The liquid is definitely more than your normal saline solution; it has to be more powerful in order to cause all of this cramping. His belly has distended and he almost looks pregnant, swollen with fluid. He takes a hesitant peak to his left and the bag is only halfway empty. He grunts out of frustration and clamps his eyes shut as he tries to patiently wait for the bag to empty.

It takes forever for the bag to completely drain. A demon (not Alastair) walks into the cell promptly after the fluid transfer finishes, removes the tube from Dean’s asshole, then forcefully shoves a large butt plug into his opening, all without acknowledging Dean’s presence.

Before the demon leaves, he tilts the table back up so that it’s back to where it was positioned before he was given an enema. The demon exits the cell and another violent round of cramps begin in Dean’s belly. _When will this torture end?_

Dean goes into a nearly unconscious state due to exhaustion and becomes aware of the smell of pie several hours later. Even though his stomach is swollen and full of liquid, it grumbles. It’s been such a long time since Dean’s had real food.

Suddenly there is a warmth on Dean’s belly that quickly turns unpleasantly _hot_. He yelps in shock but keeps his eyes firmly closed, unwilling to face his present situation, trying to ignore the presence of the other being for as long as possible. Alastair is back and there is an entire pie leaving scalding burn marks on his stomach. “Hello sweet heart. I hope you’ve had pleasant dreams. It’s time to drain you out now.”

Alastair unceremoniously removes the plug and liquid dribbles out from Dean’s hole, falling to the floor to later congeal with the other fluids that have escaped Dean’s body in recent times.  An outsider would think that Dean would feel embarrassed by the situation. But after decades of facing Alastair, he has surpassed that embarrassment phase and no longer gives a fuck about what Alastair witnesses. He’s relieved when all of the fluid expels itself from his body, but it’s short lived as something else seeks entrance to Dean’s butt hole.

“I’ve got a few presents for my favorite person. Here’s number one,” Alastair declares. Dean feels a round object being pushed up the channel of his ass until it rests directly on his prostate. He hears an almost inaudible click and the thing starts vibrating. His dick starts coming to life and he lets out a grunt of displeasure and squeezes his eyes even tighter. It shuts off.

“Please open those beautiful eyes of yours. I want to see them and they need to be open so I can show you your other presents.”

“Mmmnh, mmmnnhh,” Dean protests and shakes his head in defiance.

“Must I force you again? I certainly could. I’ve got all the necessary tools right here. How about this. Since you’re acting like a petulant child, I’ll treat you like one. I’ll give you to the count of ten and if you haven’t opened your eyes, I’ll force them to.”

Dean would rather not open his eyes, as he can blatantly ignore at least one of his five senses during a torture session if they stay closed.

“One.”

But he remembers back to the times his eyelids were forced to stay open.

“Two.”

One time they were uncomfortably forced open with forceps.

“Three.”

Those stayed in for what felt like weeks and he never got any true rest.

“Four.”

Another time Alastair took one of his special blades and cut them off.

“Five.”

And yet in another instance, they were dissolved with acid.

“Six.”

So the question is…

“Seven.”

Does he really want to experience a similar suffering again?

“Eight.”

Or give into Alastair’s demands? Neither will end well.

“Nine.”

Dean pops his eyes open.

“Ahhhhh yes. Thank you my dear. I’m glad we didn’t have to go through the punishment that would’ve resulted if you didn’t open those precious eyes of yours.” Dean holds back an eye-roll at that – Alastair would’ve been rather pleased to deliver said punishment unto Dean.

“Now for your next present. It’s right here.”

Alastair places his hand on the pie, so now Dean’s attention is back on it. The smell is brought back to his awareness and his mouth begins watering even though it’s stuffed full with a gag. The pie looks absolutely delectable, and he wishes he could have a taste, just one taste of some food, which he hasn’t in what has felt like decades.

The sight of the pie on his belly also brings back awareness to its uncomfortable temperature. Due to the weird physics of Hell, the pastry hasn’t cooled down one bit; Dean thinks it might have gotten even hotter with Alastair’s touch. Now he’s focused on the sensation of his skin blistering across his mid-section. Dean groans in pain.

“This pie here is the most delicious in all of creation. We’ve had many years to perfect the recipe. It’s better than your mama’s homemade pie. It’s too bad your mouth is currently full, or else you could have a bite.”

Taunting Dean even more, Alastair digs his fingers into the pie and shoves it in his mouth. Alastair moans in pleasure and proceeds to lick the sweet residue off his fingers.

“Mmmmm. I’d bet you’d love some of this.” Alastair scoops up some pie filling and decides it’s a good idea to rub the still fresh-out-of-the-oven-temperature gloop onto Dean’s lips.

 _Geeez!_ The scrumptiousness is so close to his mouth; he can almost taste it! But the gag is in the way unfortunately. Plus, his lips are now on fire! The filling is still hot as hell and burns the crap out of the skin exposed to the boiling substance. Now this, this is pure torture. He screams in frustration.

“Woah there kiddo. You don’t like your present? Maybe I could make it up to you somehow… I have a few ideas in mind.” The vibrator is suddenly on again and a chill travels up Dean’s spine.

Alastair gently caresses Dean’s face before wandering off to grab some more gear. He’s back several moments later with those God awful syringes again. There’s a snap of latex gloves before the table shifts again so that Dean is reclined, able to see the pie on his stomach. That’s removed so now he has a full view of his lower body. With another click, the vibrations increase in intensity.

Alastair speaks: “Now, I want you to watch this. You may end up needing to do this to someone else in the future. I’ll walk you through all the steps, tell you all my secrets to make this process more painful for the victim. Now keep your eyes open and focus; you know I have ways to force you if you can’t follow directions. Ready? Okay good. First…”

 

* * *

 

 

The same painful injection process occurs, but this time with full commentary and it hurts even more, knowing exactly what’s happening and seeing it being done (you know, needles hurt worse when you’re forced to stare at it). Throughout the entire ordeal, the vibrator kept a constant fluctuating buzz on Dean’s prostate which kinda helped aid the serum in making his dick hard.

Alastair disposes of the supplies and he’s back with the pie. “What shall we do while we wait for the serum to take its effect? Hmmmm… Oh! I know!” Dean’s nervous about Alastair’s enthusiasm. This can’t be good.

Alastair sets the pie down on the small table next to Dean and dips his hands in the filling again. With his other hand, he pinches Dean’s nipples until they perk up, then rubs a healthy dose of pie across them. For Dean, it feels like someone is pressing hot coals to both of his nipples. The temperature of the substance never dwindles (thanks Hell physics!). Then a sucking heat forms around the buds, followed by the sharpness of scraping teeth, aggravating the abused flesh further. Alastair, the fucking bastard, lets out a moan, enjoying the pleasantly warm taste of pie on his taste buds. The moan ignites an unpleasant sensation that reverberates throughout Dean’s body, causing him to shudder. The vibrator clicks up to the highest intensity yet causing Dean’s dick to inflate. He feels as though he’s gonna burst, but that serum creates a strong roadblock.

“Now for the best part yet,” Alastair sneers.

And then a long burning line is stroked from the base of Dean’s dick all the way up to the tip. Alastair only uses one fingertip to leave a line of pie filling and repeats the process, line by line, until Dean’s cock is fully coated. Alastair takes his time, like an artist working on the most delicate masterpiece, so it feels like hours before the process is complete. Dean’s lungs become sore from screaming upon the coating of each new line. Throughout the entire ordeal, the vibrator keeps fluctuating. One moment, the vibrations are so low that Dean doesn’t notice them, the pain in his Dick being his primary focus. But upon a sudden increase, the pain and the prostate stimulation both compete for his attention, creating a confusing pain-pleasure sensation.

Dean receives no relief between the last applied line and Alastair swallowing his cock in his mouth. Of course Alastair is perfectly capable of performing an excellent blowjob, but what’s the fun of that? He instead decides to scrape his teeth along the shaft, which ignites Dean’s senses as his attention is drawn to a flash of pain on his already burned, sensitive flesh. Meanwhile the sadistic bastard enjoys scraping the sweet pie off of his prisoner’s cock. After he makes his way around the entire circumference, Alastair engulfs the whole thing until it touches the back of his throat and laps up the remnant pastry with his tongue. That gives Dean a brief relief, but not for long.

“Mmmmmmm. That was delightful!” Alastair says. “Now for the last and final part. I’m just gonna move this back here.” Alastair moves the pie and Dean flinches at the heat as it is set back on his stomach (he’s too exhausted to scream or have any other reflexive reaction). “And now I’m gonna ride you. Don’t worry, sweetie. You don’t have to do anything other than lie there and look pretty for me.”

Alastair pats his cheek before assuming a straddling position across Deans lap. He grabs Deans dick. Each small touch ignites the pain because Dean’s burnt flesh is extremely sensitive right now. Alastair aligns it up with his asshole before abruptly slamming down. Even though Dean is supper exhausted, the abruptness is incredibly shocking, so he lets out a scream. And now his dick feels like it’s on fire again, being encased in a warm body.

The vibrations on Dean's prostate continue and increase to an even higher setting, sending mixed pleasure-pain signals to his brain. Dean's cock is rock-hard now, and he's frustratingly unable to come.

As Alastair adjusts to the sensation, he lets out a moan. “Ooooohhhhh. Deeeeaaaaan. You feel so gooood filling me up. The radiating warmth from your dick…. It’s beyond words.”

Without further ado, Alastair begins moving up and down, slowly at first. But then he increases his pace exponentially until he’s lifting almost all the way up and the tip of Dean’s dick barely breaches his entrance, and then he slams back down with a bruising force. The friction causes the feeling of flesh being peeled away, this red hot pain encompassing Dean’s entire dick. It seems like forever before Dean feels Alastair clench. White ropes string out, landing on the pie as well as Dean’s stomach and chest. Welp, there goes a perfectly good pie!

Alastair is left panting in an orgasmic haze. Without leaving any comments, he walks out of the cell. This leaves Dean alone, covered in white sticky filth, the pie still perched on his stomach, the gag still sitting in his mouth, the vibrator still filling his ass ( _and_ still vibrating). Someone will come to take them away eventually - the pie, the gag, and the vibrator. And the filth will magically disappear on its own, but there’s no telling when that will be.

Dean is left staring at the pie, taking in everything that just happened. All he knows now is that he doesn’t want to eat any pie for loooooong time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all who have left kudos and comments already! I am fairly new to writing fanfiction, so any kudos or comments help build my dwindling confidence. Please leave a kudos and/or comment if you've enjoyed reading! You can also find me on tumbler @tapnbluesnlindyhopdancer.
> 
> Once again, I have another idea for a story. This one's inspired by the creepy spider that hangs in the corner of the entry door to my apartment. I make no promises as to when I'll start writing it or when it'll be complete, but look forward to it being posted sometime in the distant future.


	3. Torture Session 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another day, another torture session on Alistair's rack in Hell. This time, Dean is forced to drink unhealthy amounts of a mysterious liquid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I didn't really expect to add another chapter to this series. My brain had other plans...
> 
> I had an idea bouncing around in my head for this scene, which I recently found out was known as Omorashi. And my brain decided to turn it dark, very dark. And it kept adding details that were perfect for this series. I warn you, this chapter is horrifically dark, dare I say darker than the previous two chapters, and isn’t for everyone. This is your warning to turn around if you’re not gonna like what’s below. It ain’t for the faint of heart. Please heed the tags (new ones have been added), and don’t read if you don’t like. And please let me know if I missed a tag. 
> 
> This is pretty much pure, torturous, smut-filled gore. I hope you enjoy >:)

Dean stirs into awareness as fingers furiously shove something large up his butthole, without any sort of preparation, of course. Hell doesn’t allow the luxury of lubricant when it would be oh so nice to have some. Thus he’s left with a throbbing tear in his ass.

While his asshole adjusts to the intrusion, Dean notices his arms are chained above his head. His legs are spread open and he tries to close them - to give himself the allusion of protection - but something stops him from doing so. He looks down to see a spreader bar forcing his legs to remain propped open. The spreader bar is welded in the ground, allowing very little wiggle room. This can’t be good.

It’s not long before Alastair appears at the entrance of his cell. He carries a glass of hazy liquid.

“If it isn’t my favorite Winchester,” Alastair greets in his sick, nasally voice. “How are we doing today?”

“Just peachy.”

“Will you take my knife today, end your pain, or shall we resume our session of torture therapy?”

“I’ll never take your knife!” Dean spits in his face.

“Feisty today, are we? Well, suit yourself, let’s begin. Please, drink this.”

Alastair holds the cup to Dean’s lips. He takes a mouthful of the substance, and immediately spits it out in Alastair’s face.

“Oh no,” he tsks. “That won’t do. Try again.”

 _What is that stuff?!_ It’s awful, whatever it is. It tastes like someone boiled a pair of sweaty socks and turned it into soup.

Dean can’t take another sip without hurling. He turns his head out of defiance when Alastair tries to make him drink more.

“Oh my. Are we in an uncooperative mood, hmm? That just won’t do.”

Dean breathes a short-lived sigh of relief when Alastair puts down the glass. But then he goes around back, out of Dean’s line of vision.

He hears a _whoosh!_

And then a _crack!_

Seconds later, a red hot stripe of pain makes itself prevalent across his heinie.

Being in Hell, Dean has built up a high tolerance for pain. He doesn’t cry out at the first strike. But his torturer is relentless.

The next lash falls, just above the last. Alastair doesn’t wait for him to catch his breath before the next strike hits. There isn’t time for him to feel pain between lashes; it all melds together and his ass radiates a pounding warmth.

If only he could move, wiggle his butt to spread out the pain, allow himself the tiniest reprieve from what he must endure. Nope. He can’t move an inch, and his muscles clench as he attempts to stay balanced without jerking along with the momentum of each blow.

Eventually, Alastair runs out of room when he strikes the top of his ass, close to his lower back. So Alastair begins again, starting at that sensitive crease between his butt and his thighs, and works a second layer up his ass. Dean’s world is reduced to _strike, strike, strike!_ followed by a glowing pain. He feels a warm drip roll down the back of his bare, muscular thighs. The welts on his skin must’ve broken. As more rivulets of blood glide down his thick legs, he still doesn’t break.

Next come his thighs. His thighs are surprisingly sensitive. He holds back a gasp as the first lash breaks out across the sensitive flesh. He bites his lip at the fall of the second strike. A sound escapes his lips at the third strike. He lets out a grunt at the fourth. It’s not long till shouted curses erupt from his mouth, which go ignored. What he would give to flee these lashes, or to at least be able to move.

To make matters worse, he still doesn’t break after the first round across his thighs. And Alastair pounds that soft flesh with a second coat of lashes. Uncontrolled tears skate down Dean’s face as the strikes blow.

Halfway up, Dean cries out “Stop!”

“What was that, boy?” Alastair grates in his ear.

_Another strike_

“I said –“

_Strike_

“I – I SAID”

_Strike_

“STAAAHP!”

_Strike_

“Your tone, sweetie pie. You know better than that. Try again,” he hisses.

_Strike_

He can’t take this anymore!

_Strike_

He knows exactly what to say, though it grates him to utter the words. “Please stop, sir!” Dean shouts at the top of his lungs.

“Now that’s more like it!”

Dean slumps in his bonds, panting with a face smeared with tears and snot.

“Will you be a good boy for me, now, and drink more?”

“Yes, sir,” Dean mutters under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Yes, sir,” Dean forces out between clenched teeth.

“I don’t like your attitude, young man. But I’ll let it slide this time. Now, drink.”

Dean takes a heaping swig of the concoction when Alastair brings it to his mouth. The stuff is fucking nasty, so he manfully swallows it all down in one quick gulp. Alastair draws the glass away briefly, but it’s back before the liquid settles in his stomach. He doesn’t part his lips.

“Drink. Or do I need to punish you again?” Alastair sneers.

Dean can’t handle any more lashes to his tush right now, so he regretfully takes another sip of the drink. His stomach is not prepared. The slimy feeling of the thick, stinky fluid traveling down his throat encompasses his mind. He gags. The glass is still on his lips. He takes another sip. Gags yet again. Sips. Gags. One last sip and the glass is taken away, thank goodness. Residual fluid lingers in his mouth, and he can’t seem to force the needed swallow. He chokes. And bile rises in his throat. Inevitably, the contents of his stomach sloshes out onto the ground.

“Dean, Dean, Dean,” Alastair tsks. “You leave me no choice…”

Alastair leans over to grab something just outside Dean’s range of sight. Whatever was grabbed is hidden behind Alastair’s back before Dean has a chance to see it. _What could it be?_ He doesn’t really want to find out.

Alastair stands directly in front of his face, paying no attention to the mess of vomit squelching under his bare feet.

“Open your mouth, please.”

Oh no. He’s _not_ opening his mouth. _No way._ He clenches his lips between his teeth.

“That won’t do. Vince!”

A demon fizzles into existence by his side.

“Get the boy’s mouth open for me, please.”

“Sure thing, boss,” says the demon, whose name must be Vince.

Sharp fingernails claw across the shut opening of Dean’s mouth. They can’t seem to find a way in. That’s success right there.

“Hmmm, this won’t work. Let’s try another tactic,” Vince says to himself. An unnerving smirk spreads across his face.

All of a sudden pain explodes out from Dean’s balls as nails gouge into the sensitive flesh. Dean can’t hold back a screeching yelp. Taking the opportunity, Alastair shoves something into Dean’s open mouth. He quickly figures out the surprise that had been waiting behind his back.

“Thank you, Vince. You may go now.” With that, the demon vanishes.

A soft, porous material forces his jaw propped open. The awful stench of the liquid floods his nostrils, making it difficult to breath. A lock clicks into place behind his head, securing the thing in his throat. Unfortunately, Dean has become quite acquainted to a wide array of deranged sex toys during his time in Hell, so it doesn’t surprise him that he’s been gagged.

Due to the horrid smell, Dean is forced to suck in air through his mouth to breath, which causes fluid to gush from the gag. The spongy material doesn’t absorb the stagnant liquid in his mouth. The physics in Hell continually keeps the gag saturated with liquid. He’s definitely in trouble now.

“Isn’t that better Dean, hmm?”

Fingers card through the short hair on his head. A shiver travels down the nape of his neck from the unwanted touch of affection. “Mmmmnnn,” He groans.

“Now, be a good boy and don’t urinate on my floor. You will NOT like the consequences if you do so. I’ll see you in a bit, don’t miss me too much.”

Hell, Dean won’t miss Alastair _at all_ while he’s gone. He won’t. Not one little bit. Could he just not come back? That would be great. Leave Dean in the peace of his own thoughts, not having to endure the annoying whine of that nasally voice. Wouldn’t that be lovely? He would never have such luck.

After several minutes of sucking and forcefully swallowing the gross liquid, there’s just the slightest pressure against his bladder. As if someone can read his mind, the plug in his ass begins to vibrate in short pulses. This situation just got worse.

With every pulse of the vibrator against his prostate, Dean’s dick fills to hardness, and the pressure in his bladder fluctuates. The pulses are inconsistent, both in timing and intensity. He can’t predict when the next pulse will come or how intense it will be, making it all the more difficult to hold back his need to pee. The spreader bar prevents his desire to clench his legs together, which could’ve helped him follow Alastair’s command of “no pissing”.

It seems like hours pass by, and Dean still holds back. It’s bordering on pain to stave off urination. He can’t even take a lungful of breath to meditate through the pain. Wouldn’t it be nice to have just a smidgen of comfort, to be able to breathe without a gag in his mouth or that godawful stench in his nose? Nope. Not allowed such simple luxuries in this place.

He’s reaching that point where he can’t hold back any longer. It’s undoubtedly uncomfortable as the consistent pressure in his bladder grows by the minute. Despite Alastair’s warnings, he must relieve himself. And so he does.

He decides to test the waters, so to speak. He lets a small dribble escape. However, it’s not the pleasant, overwhelming relief that he anticipated. No. In fact, it’s the exact opposite.

A stinging electric current travels along the path of his urine, from the base to the tip of his cock. With it comes an excruciating burn, like someone set fire to the innards of his urethra. “Uunnngghf!” His moans of pain are muffled by the gag.

He holds the remainder back as best he can. He’d rather not repeat that unpleasantness. The dribbles slide down his erect dick, and he can feel the warm path of each drop as is travels down the length of his shaft to eventually land with a plunk on the floor.

The cell door slams open.

“I warned you not to piss on my floor,” Alastair snarls. He tightly clenches the strands of Dean’s hair in a powerful grip.

“Hmmm, what shall I do about your disobedience. Decisions, decisions...”

A vicious rattle zones in on Dean’s prostate. “Mnnnffgfhh!” his screams are caught by the gag. Another electric jolt shoots across his dick as an uncontrollable amount of urine spurts from the head of his cock. He doesn’t dare look down to see the mess he’s caused.

Dean is too overwhelmed with sensations to realize Alastair disappeared behind him. He makes his presence known by trailing a lone finger across the globes of his buttocks. Then it makes a path from his neck, across his spine till it contacts his tailbone. The finger digs its way between his cheeks and lands on his hole. There are several taps against the plug, forcing it further up his ass so it settles against that bundle of nerves. And _whoa! Is it expanding?!_ It’s definitely increasing in diameter. He’s already on the precipice, unwilling to give in and lose control. This just adds to the difficulty.

The vibrations resume, somehow even more intense and focused than before. He still sucks in gulps of fluid, adding more liquid to his ever filling bladder. At the next vibrating pulse, his tight hold falters, and another painful drop of urine collects at the end of his dick. He lets out another muffled groan.

Dean’s ears happen to notice a suspicious noise. Then a striking pain appears, splayed along the skin above his tailbone. Lashes continue to fall, covering the expanse of his back. Each strike cuts another well-defined line into flesh. On top of it all, the plug buzzes in time with every single blow. Dean’s torso jostles with every swing, though there’s not much space to move. And the difficulty to hold back increases yet again.

At a certain point, Dean can’t control his own biology. A warm stream of liquid spurts out his dick with each pulse of the plug and strike of the whip. He fights it, even though it gets more and more brutal to hold back with each passing minute.

One time, he makes the mistake of gazing downwards. His eyes fall upon a heaping mount of rotting vomit tinted with a sheathing layer of red liquid. Dean’s head buzzes and the perimeters of his vision go fuzzy upon an unwanted realization. That layer of red liquid, that’s _his urine_ stained red with blood. _Fuck!_ Deep breaths, deeeeep breaths (as deep as he can breathe through the gag, that is). Don’t look. Don’t think about it. What’s happened has happened, and he’s trapped here in this predicament, like a mouse in a cage, forced to participate in someone’s sick idea of a scientific study.

Hours tick by, oh so slowly, into infinity. The uncomfortable pain in his bladder deepens into scream-worthy territory. However, the torture of holding back doesn’t nearly equate to the pure agony of releasing, at least he thinks it doesn’t. What’s worse - unbearable, agonizing pain for several minutes (because yes, it would take Dean excruciating long minutes to empty his bladder at this point), or a milder pain that’s unpleasant but bearable for several hours? Dean prefers option two at the moment.

He lives in brief agony with each released drop. Who knows how bad it would feel to let it all out? Dean prefers not to learn. So he endures his suffering.

Suddenly, there’s a popping sound and a sharp pain exudes from his pelvis. He wails behind the gag. This pain, it’s mind numbing, worse than the crushing pain of a broken bone. Dean’s sees bright white behind his clenched eye lids. The pain doesn’t fade, instead morphing into a pulsing ache. He tries to focus on the rise and fall of his chest as a distraction.

“My poor boy, what happened?” Alastair asks rhetorically, while a hand curiously prods around Dean’s lower belly and pelvic region.

When he presses against a particular spot, Dean’s vision goes white again.

“AAAAAGGGHF!” Comes a muffled scream.

“I found the source of the pain. Let’s figure out the cause, shall we?”

Dean’s still panting, trying to catch his breath. His mind is incapable of comprehending the meaning behind those words. He flinches in surprise at the cool touch of a metal against his abdomen. His body shakes in fear; a cool sheen of sweat breaks out across his skin. He nervously waits, and his anxiety escalates, as Alastair presses the tip of the blade into his skin without drawing blood. He drags the same line of incision, repeating it over and over again, adding the barest hint of force with each pass. If Dean wasn’t chained as he is, he’d be thrashing by now.

Eventually the knife breaks skin. Dean’s too exhausted to scream. Alastair wiggles his hand into the incision. His hand brushes across organs till he finds the one he’s looking for. He pulls it out so Dean can see. All the while, blood drools from the wound in his abdomen. The vibrations of the plug in his ass are at the back of his mind. His dick is no longer aroused.

“Look-y here,” Alastair commands. Dean is smart enough to comply. He uses all his energy to lift his eyes and peer at the object in Alastair’s hand.

Yes, Alastair’s hand is coated in blood. And yes, he expects the organ to be dripping some blood. But there’s an unnatural stream of liquid oozing from the organ.

“This, this is the cause of your pain, dearie. What I have here in the palm of my hand is your bladder. See the rupture line here? Your bladder reached capacity, couldn’t hold all the fluid you’ve been drinking. I’m shocked you didn’t let it out. It must’ve caused a lot of pain to hold it back. Most normal humans wet themselves before their bladder ruptures. You, sweet thing, did not.”

Dean tries to let those words sink in.

Alastair stands up from his perch, drops the organ, and lets it dangle loose from Dean’s body. He wipes the grime off his precious blade with a stained towel and leaves it on the side table.

Dean winces as Alastair pats a bloodied hand on his shoulder.

“Whelp, that’s all I had planned today. I’ll see you in the morning, sunshine.”

Dean glares as Alastair leaves, finally. He dangles in his chains, waiting for the unknown forces to heal his body. Renew it again, so there’s a fresh canvas for the sadistic artist tomorrow. Another day, another agonizing torture session. What will await him next?


End file.
